


Papa Says: Cas's Reflections

by Deadmockingbirds



Series: The Winchester's Series [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Consensual spanking, Corporal Punishment, Father-Son Relationship, Grounding, Impala, Non-Consensual Spanking, Other, Spanking, Stern Cas, Strict Cas, Team Dean's Red Ass, very light caning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-04-26 14:17:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5007943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadmockingbirds/pseuds/Deadmockingbirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WW-era.  Cas must reprimand Dean for his latest shenanigans, but he wants to make sure he's doing what's best for Dean.  Cas reflects on the different phases his discipline techniques have gone through while Dean was growing down and then growing up: What's changed and what's stayed the same?  And how he's always relied on Sam's guidance even if he's the one to make the final call.  When he finally reaches a decision, it's clear, to Dean, just how much Papa loves him, even if Papa's harsh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SankatyLight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SankatyLight/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is a long overdue gift for my dear, dear Sankaty Light. She writes me storybook comments, which I enjoy so much, that often times keeps my muse fuelled, so you can thank her. She's partially responsible for keeping The Winchesters series going. Thank you SKL! Mock Loves you! 
> 
> Here is the prompt (as somewhat paraphrased by Mock):
> 
> A kind of character study, in Cas's head, showing how he's really grown as a parent. Specifically, Cas reflecting on the first time he spanked Dean when he was growing down and then again when he was growing up. Cas being firm papa, with some Sam/Cas stuff as Dean was probably pushing (as two-year-olds do) and Sam had agreed that Cas would make these decisions, and thinking about how different he is since the first time he spanked Dean, or WW-era, as Dean's really needed boundaries from Cas lately or really anytime. 
> 
> Cas was so well-intentioned, but so lost during those early days and he just bleeds love for Dean in GUW, then by WW he's so much more relaxed, but still has the moments of doubt. Toss in a little bit of the BabyDean reacting to getting in trouble with his papa and Papa reassuring BOTH of them...
> 
> *This won't make much sense alone. If you have not read The Winchesters Series, read from story one then come back to this.  
> *This will contain the much sought after Cas's 1st time spanking Dean that, like, EVERYONE wanted to see.  
> *I really had to use my thinking brain for this, hope I did okay! It was a good challenge! 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **SET THE SCENE**  
>  Present time is set in WW-era. It's the beginning of the school year; end of September. Dean is 'seventeen,' him and Michael are sexually together, but have not yet reached any of the non-relationship-relationship agreements of WW yet, since that story is set to begin in June of this same school year.

NOW

I check the time, it's ticking closer to the time Dean will be home from school. We're set to meet today; he has a reprimand coming. Whenever he's earned a reprimand, I put a lot of thought into how I'm going to proceed. Many think my role is about lording over people and while I won't deny that I like to be in charge of my home, for me it's certainly not about bossing people around. Being 'in charge' means you have great responsibility. When the people in your home are not fulfilling their roles, it's partly your fault. Yes. When my brood is misbehaved, it's because I have not fulfilled my role as completely as I could and that is inexcusable. Thus, each time I have to hand out punishment, there is much I consider. It's not just about the situation at present, but where I'd like the chastisement to take the person.

With time, I've gotten good at guiding my pair and in case I should doubt myself, I've got Sam and Dean reminding me at every turn of what I good Husband and Papa I am. I trust them. I've got them both down so well, I could write an instruction manual on each of them, though the two are so close sometimes, one might be able to use the same directions for each. I know exactly how long each of them can go without a spanking and can almost write down on my calendar: "Time to spank Dean, or time to spank Sam," I've gotten so accurate.

But it wasn't always this way. With each there was a learning curve.

I knew though, since I first saw Dean with that broom handle in his hand, jousting it at the doctors trying to help him, eyes wild like a wolf, that Dean would do well with strict boundaries. But even with that piece of knowledge, I've had to fine tune my barometer over time and at the different phases of his growing up, or growing down…

THEN: The First Time Cas Spanks Dean growing Down

The moment I walk in the door, I can tell Dean's in a bad mood. He's not been adjusting well to this new age. We guess him at eight or nine, but only the doctor can tell us for sure and we're waiting on that. When he was 'thirteen,' there was still quite a bit of independence he could enjoy, but at the age he's at now, Sam and I both feel we have to reduce the responsibilities he's permitted.

It is difficult to decide these kinds of things. He's not a 'regular' child. Old Dean is still there to some degree, but in so many ways, Sam and I can see how much a child he is developmentally. The greatest challenge being, he doesn't see it. We have to get him to see it.

"How are my boys today?" I ask as I remove my long beige trench coat and roll up the sleeves to my white, long sleeved shirt, in preparation to sit down at the kitchen table with my family and eat dinner. I loosen my tie and remove it, undoing the top buttons of my shirt. It was a long day at work; I've been looking forward to seeing them both all day. I lean in to kiss Sam, he's got his fed up look on – it must have been a trying day with our boy.

"Hi Cassy," he says trying not to let on how he's feeling, but I know. I almost always know.

"Dean," I say sitting down, knowing not to kiss his crown like I want to. He's likely to explode and as much as I can already sense this night is going to end in him getting spanked, I think in this case it's better if I let him get there on his own. So far, he's only had a spanking from Sam. I've given him warnings and was very close to yesterday morning when he was misbehaving, but I've been looking to Sam for guidance. He's the kid expert and even he's having to wing some of it with Dean. The Modlenol is a real wrench in the machinery. It makes us both question our parenting methods (though me far more than Sam) rather than trust our instincts.

He's toying with the spaghetti the chef likely made, not eating it, probably because he was told to wait for me, but still rolling his fork in it. Sam's looking at him worried and also exhausted; I know it's time for me to take the reigns on this one.

"Put your fork down please, Kiddo. Daddy likes to say grace before we eat," I say pulling out my chair and sitting at the other head of our kitchen table across from Sam. Dean's sitting at the bench seat opposite the bay window. He puts it down, but it's easy to see that's pissed him off more.

"Would my Dean Bean like to say grace tonight?" Sam asks. I know he's trying to make Dean feel a little better for losing some of his autonomy by giving him tasks. It's also the Colt way – everyone has a job in that family, no matter how small. It's the way it's got to be with a family that size.

"No."

"Dean," Sam warns.

"Well, I don't want to and everything I do want to do, you guys say no to."

I give a look across the table to Sam, asking him if I can handle this one to which he responds silently, 'by all means.' We've been together so long, we can have these wordless conversations. Sam looks relieved to have me step in.

"That isn't respectful little boy and I won't have it – not at my table and not in our home. Apologize to your daddy please."

"Apologize? For speaking my mind? That's horseshit."

"Okay, enough. Corner please, that one, to calm down until we can conduct a more reasonable conversation."

His jaw drops and he looks to Sam, though I don't know why. Of all the things that irk Sam, at the top of that list is curse words and Dean's already learned that the hard way. "Oh no, don't look at me, not after that language. Feel lucky Papa's already sent you to the corner, I was about to get my bar of soap."

"Move your bum now Dean Winchester before I spank it." It's no empty threat. I expect immediate compliance and I don't have much patience for disobedience.

Angrily, he pushes his plate away and storms over to the corner, likely hating my guts right now. If that had been me in my father's house, he would have given me a good spanking for that kind of behavior alone and I would have been standing in the corner with a sore bottom awaiting a real spanking.

I let Dean's behavior go, so long as he decides to behave in the corner.

"He's tired Cassy. His body needs some extra sleep, that's why he's so cranky."

"It's no excuse, Sam. Will you say grace, Baby?"

Sam says a quick grace and we begin eating. After five minutes have past, I check on our boy. "Dean, are you ready to come out?"

"Yes," he snaps in a way that says he's not.

"Come to the table, please." He's still getting used to us and our ways, so I give him some slack, even if I should leave him to calm down another five minutes – he's still got enough old Dean in him for me to be firmer than if he were an actual eight or nine-year-old.

He's less aggressive when he makes his way back, corner time does help Dean calm down whether he likes it or not, but he's sulky as he sits down. "Hey, how come you started without me? We had to wait for Papa, you said, but not me?" he asks his daddy.

I answer. "We don't wait for misbehaving little boys, now start eating please."

He looks like he wants to talk balk, but at least he's questioning that decision. He wisely picks up his fork and begins eating his pasta. "You still owe your daddy an apology. And for your information, you are always heard, Dean, but you will do it respectfully. That's a firm rule in this house, we all respect one another and think carefully about what we say, so no one gets hurt."

"But I feel like no cares about what I think. You just say no and I'm supposed to shut up like a little kid."

"You are a little kid. Your feelings and thoughts are always taken into account, Kiddo, but we make the final decisions according to what we feel is best, that's what parents do. I'm sorry you don't like our decisions sometimes, but it's something you'll understand when you have children of your own."

"I'm never having kids, so I guess I'll never understand."

It's hard not to laugh when he says that. I'm certain he doesn't realize just how much of a kid he sounds saying things like that, but I have to remain stern. "I'm still finding your attitude disrespectful young man, clean it up and you've still yet to apologize to your daddy."

"Even if I'm not sorry?"

That's a genuinely asked question, so I don't scold him for it even though I can tell it's wounded Sam. It's interesting to watch Sam with Dean. He's helped raise so many kids and has had practice in not taking what they say to heart, but with Dean, he gets mortally wounded.

"Even if you're not sorry."

"Fine. I'm sorry, Daddy."

"It's okay, Dean Bean," Sam says forgiving him right away of course and I don't miss him wiping at his eye.

Dean doesn't see it though and continues to sulkily eat his spaghetti. "Thank you for apologizing," I say even though I'm not thrilled with it and I don't like that Sam's upset. "But this is your last warning, lose the attitude, or you'll be going to bed early with a spanked bottom."

" _Daddy_ , already said I have to go to bed early."

I know a brat who's pushing when I see one. "It will be a lot earlier than Daddy's said, I promise."

He's got his elbows on the table, which I want to get after him for, but _one lesson at a time Winchester_ , his face is resting in his little hand and he's twisting noodles onto his fork with the dexterity of an eight or nine year old. _I'm sorry Dean, I just can't see you as an adult in this moment,_ though there are definitely times I can.

So Sam's upset and Dean's upset, I decide to try and salvage what we have left of our dinner. "What did y'all do today?" I say throwing in some Texas for Dean, since I know it makes him laugh.

Not today. He's silent and focuses on eating.

"It wasn't a good day, Cassy. How was yours?"

Some people can hear that and simply say: You win some, you lose some, but not Castiel Winchester. We Winchesters are not 'sweep it under the rug' kinds of people, we deal with things even if it's a simple spanking to put everything to rest.

"Can someone explain what happened here today?"

"Dean's upset because, yesterday, I told him we were talking about when he would be allowed firearms in his new life. I thought he'd agreed to a hunting hiatus, but well, that's not the case."

"I didn't agree on anything and you said you'd talk about it with him," Dean says not even able to help himself. "You're a tattletale."

I know I warned him that if he was disrespectful again, I would spank him, but I feel it more important to deal with the bigger issue we have at hand than to follow through on that. My patience is pretty much gone by this point. "You don't have to agree to anything Dean. Daddy and I decide on things like that without your input. After the behavior I've seen tonight, it's clear you're not ready for that kind of responsibility, so I'm deciding now, we'll revisit the topic in one year's time, until then it's closed."

I can tell by the look in Sam's eyes, he thinks my ruling is unfair. I know he'll say to me later that Dean was tired and I shouldn't make decisions like that, based off of his 'out of the ordinary' behavior, but that's exactly the kind of behavior I think this decision should be based off of. When you are in command of a firearm, you should also have command of your emotions.

Dean, who doesn't know me as well as Sam does is willing to tell me exactly what he thinks. "That's not fair. You just said I could be heard, I think I should get to at least voice my thoughts on the topic."

No I don't. Not with this. This is a black and white parent issue for Sam and I to decide, with default to me as head of our house. The two of them were not able to work it out, so I get called to bat and once I make a final call, I expect to hear 'yes, sir.'

But Dean is still new to our house rules and I believe in rewarding good behavior. Dean was calm and respectful when he spoke and I appreciate him trying, so I will indulge him this time. Dean's response might not have been the most mature, but I can hear the undercurrent of old Dean in his young voice – it's hard to know just how to deal with these snippets of 'big Dean,' for now I think it's important to reason with him and I note to myself that it could change at some point. "Normally when Papa says a topic is closed, that means no more further discussion, or spanking will ensue, but you were respectful just like Papa asked and I appreciate that Dean, okay, I will hear what you have to say on the topic." I put my fork down to give him my full attention.

Dean can't even help it, he's practically beaming from the praise. No he's not smiling with his lips, but it's in his eyes. Likely part of his further upset from earlier was because he felt out of favor with me. I'll have to remember give Dean lots of positive reinforcement; something I suspect was either missing or rare in his first life.

He copies me and puts his fork down giving me his full attention. "I've been handling firearms for the past twenty-two years, Papa," he says Papa shyly. "I'm good at it. I swear I'll only do it when you say – I won't even look at one otherwise."

"Thank you Dean, now that I've listened to you, will you hear me out?"

"Yes, Papa."

"We don't doubt you're brilliant with a firearm, that's not what our decision will be based on. We know the kind of life you lived Dean, we want to offer you something else. Either way, you will have firearms, but you might have to wait a year or two. Your daddy and I will discuss it and let you know." I think I'm going to be well received; I've been more than fair. Not only did I hear him out, I rescinded on a final call, something I never do. I can already hear the accusations from Sam on how much I spoil him.

But I'm not well received, not at all.

"Well that was a waste of everyone's time. _Daddy_ already said that and I got shut down the same way. Just forget it."

I tap my fingers on the table deciding. He deserves it, he's pushing, but I've got first time jitters about spanking my son. Sam knows what my finger tapping means, not only that, but he's had enough of Dean's attitude as well. His eyes clearly say: _Do it, or I will._

That decides it for me. I stand up out of my seat, the chair slides back nosily across the floor and Dean's eyes go wide. "I've given you plenty of warnings."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I'll be good."

I shake my head. "No, too late. You're getting a good spanking young man."

I take his wrist and guide him up off the bench seat. "Please Papa, I'm sorry."

"I thank you for your apology, Dean," I say as I continue to switch places with him, sitting on the bench seat and pulling him over my lap. Once he's there, I pull his pants and batman underwear down to his ankles swiftly and lay down several hard swats on his bare bottom. "I will have respect at the dinner table and in our home, is that understood Mr. Winchester?"

"Ow! Ye-es!"

I continue spanking him and when he tries to put his hand back to cover, I grab it smoothly and without pause and I'm able to sustain the same intensity of swats. It's not as hard as I thought it was going to be, in that I'm so practiced with spanking a larger, stronger man, that Dean's squirming is nothing. I don't continue much longer after I hear sobs. I wanted the spanking to elicit some tears, I think he needs that, but I only want enough of a sting for this first spanking so he'll feel it while he gets ready for bed, because that's exactly where he's going after this.

Dean's got tears down his cheeks, his face red with both embarrassment and exertion, when I stand him back up and begin pulling up his pants. "Upstairs, now. Put your pajamas on, brush your teeth, I'll be up in ten minutes. If I find you have disobeyed, you'll receive another spanking, am I clear?"

"Y-yes, Pa-papa," he nods.

"Good, go." I send him with a light pat to his smarting bottom and he runs. The ten minute reprive and tasks I gave him will give him time to calm down. We still need to have a little chat.

I check on Sam. "I'm sorry you had to do that Cassy. I know you have long days at work."

I take his hand. "It's my job, Baby. He's upset now, but he needed that – he was pushing. I think he'll appreciate the boundaries."

Sam smiles. "He was a terror today. I should have spanked him, you're right it's what he needed, but I've been feeling guilty."

"Can you see how much that helped him?"

"I know Cassy, but I'm glad things worked out as they did. He needed that from you, you have this special something, and even when the spanking is a not fun spanking, it's always worth it for what you give after – I think Dean needs that today. When he sees what you have to offer, your own special Cas brand of caring, he won't mind the rules we make for him…much."

"Until he's a teen. We're deciding no dating 'till he's thirty-five, right?" I tease, I'm only half serious.

Sam laughs. "What is our decision on firearms?"

"I was planning on going back to my original call, due to his outburst. He needs to show respect and responsibility before he's allowed guns. Do you disagree, Baby?" I can tell by the look on his face he's got something to say about that.

"I don't disagree Cassy, it just looks like I'm on the harsher side this time. I'd rather he waits 'till he's thirteen again."

"You are? I could tell you didn't like when I laid down the law earlier."

"Only because of what I thought you were basing your decision on, not the decision itself. He's been cranky today, I didn't think it was fair to judge him on crankiness alone, but I should have known better Cassy. You're always fair and loving when you make decisions."

"Thanks, Baby." I pull him in for a kiss.

We leave the firearms decision at undecided for now. I have to go up and talk to our boy now and it's hard to know what I'm going to get. He might be repentant, he might be resentful…or both. I'm relieved when I see a pajama clad boy face down on his bed. I really didn't want to have to spank him again, but I know how important follow through is.

"Dean?"

The Dean I end up getting, is the last thing I expect. Practically heartrending. He launches himself at me and suddenly I have an armful of crying boy. "Pa-papa, I'm sorry," he sobs. He takes a deep breath, trying to control his speech. He's obviously been rehearsing this in his head. "I'm s-sorry I was disrespectful and I, I brushed my teeth ju-just like you said to."

I hug him close, rock him, kiss his head and tell him it's okay. I don't know how much Dean is Old Dean and how much Dean is young Dean right now, but it doesn't matter; he's all my Dean right now. "Papa's very proud you did as he asked and I know you're going to be as respectful as you can be in future. We make decisions because we care about you, we want to give you a good life Dean. Do you think you can just…let go?"

He wraps his legs tight around my waist. I'm sure he'll feel embarrassed by his display of affection in the morning (even if there's no need for that) but it doesn't stop me giving him exactly what he needs in this moment. "I'm trying Papa, I swear I am…it's just hard sometimes."

"I know, Angel. That's why Papa's here to help you."

"But, but I was so awful, you don't hate me?"

I pull back so he can see my eyes. "Never. I care about you very much Dean Winchester." I love him with all my heart in fact, but I'm not sure he's ready to hear that yet. _One thing at a time._

He puts his head down into my shoulder and snuggles in, I rock him on the bed for a bit more until I'm sure he's okay. "Do you understand why you were punished?" I ask as I stand up, Dean still with me and pull back the covers on his bed. I'm fairly certain he gets it, but this is the first time I've spanked him, I've got to make sure.

"I was being a little jerk," he says clearly not liking being put to bed so early, but realizing it's of his own making.

I pull the covers over him, sit beside him and press his nose. "Try again Mister Winchester."

"You asked me to be respectful a whole bunch and I didn't listen."

"Good boy. "

"I don't think I'm going to be able to fall asleep Papa, it's too early."

"I think you're more tired than you realize. Tell you what, lie on your belly and Papa will scratch your back until you fall asleep, okay Kiddo?"

"Okay, Papa."

In minutes, Dean's…out.


	2. Chapter 2

NOW

I check the time again. I've still got an hour, I decide to seek Sam out for just one more question before I met out his punishment. I've always relied on Sam's guidance with Dean – believe me, Dean's butt would have seen a lot more of my hand if it weren't for Sam, I'm definitely the stricter between the two of us.

There was a time I didn't trust my judgment at all, but I've come to trust my own judgment so much more now. It was almost easier as he was growing down, I had that 'old Dean' buffer to rely on, in case I was too harsh – old Dean could handle a bit of harshness – with some tolerance when he was not aware of our strict rules.

It became apparent and quickly, when Dean was eighteen months, he needed Sam's gentler method of parenting, but Dean always, always looked for that sternness I bring to the package. He needed it and it wasn't long into his growing up I figured out just how much. The Colt way is not wrong – it did work for so many Colts – but that's where my son's a Winchester, through and through; his deeper need for firm structure began early. Our family needed the structure; we all benefitted when I took back full-reign.

THEN

I'm at work, but all I can think about: Sam and Dean. Things are not good at home.

I'm firm, strict, hell I'm harsh down to my core, so I made the decision to have Sam in charge of our little one. I don't have the skill for a child, so young, Sam's methods are just…better.

But in a short period of time, it's fucked up our whole dynamic. In other words, _I_ fucked up our whole dynamic. For a head of house, this is about as embarrassing as it gets. I've got to fix it.

Sam and I have spent years figuring out what works best for us only to arrive a the glaringly obvious conclusion: I need control over situations far more than the usual person, Sam prefers to have someone alpha in his life. There are particular domains where he enjoys being the authority (back home in Texas) but he enjoys the sanctity of coming back to my arms and letting me take care of everything.

But I'm clearly not alpha right now and without those secured boundaries for Sam, he's gone to the other end of the spectrum: No rules and he lets Dean do whatever he wants.

This was never even pre-us Sam. He always had that gentle, but firm Colt way of taking his siblings to task and while it never held the amount of order I would want in my home, it was still order.

I know this is Sam's unconscious way of asking me to take over. Hell, he's gone down right brat, which happens from time to time with Sam, but it's not often. I know what I should do, but I'm not sure if I should do it. I've been observing the situation for weeks and using the time I'm supposed to be working, contemplating the best way to approach it.

Still with no clear answer, I pack up to go home. What am I going to come home to today?

It ends up being Sam, lying on the floor of the living room, while our two-year-old son runs around him, climbing all over the furniture with the dog. And is that plant knocked over? "Sam? _Samuel_!"

"Yeah, I'm here Cas."

"What in Moses is going on in here?"

"Going on? Nothing. We were just waiting for you to come home."

"This place is a disaster Sam."

"Dean wanted to play with the pots and pans, but then he got bored with that and dumped out his toy box. And, oh, sorry about the plant, I tried to stop him, told him no at least seven times, but he wouldn't listen, so I gave up. It's just a plant Cassy, it can be cleaned up…"

I listen in shock for twenty minutes, while he tells me all the things he couldn't stop our son from doing, things that of course he could and had in the past. So long as it wasn't threatening, he just let him do it rather than make him cry.

When I come back to my senses and have a complete picture of what's going on, I put my hand up to silence him. "Enough. C'mon. Up," I say, tugging at his arm. "Is the table set for dinner?"

"No, uh, I'll go do that now."

Before I can say otherwise, he's gone. I was only wondering, I wasn't actually telling him to do it, but if he wants to set it, he can. When I turn back to Dean, both him and the dog are in the turned over plant, Pala's jumping and barking at Dean tracking paw prints everywhere and Dean's a grand mess.

I'm still in my work clothes. My jacket's off, but I haven't even had the chance to loosen my tie, I do so as I make my way over to the dirt monster. "No, Dean," I try gently. I want to just pull him out of the dirt, but I know he'll scream.

"No Papa."

I really don't like no, he says that a lot. More so lately. "Dean, Papa says it's time to get cleaned up. Look at Pala, she's messy. Stay! Stay girl!" I say, but not even the damn dog will listen to me.

And if you think the dog is misbehaving, the two-year-old is worse. "No! Dean does it."

He says that a lot too lately. I know what I want to do, but Papa's ways are too harsh. The mess is getting bigger and Pala runs off tracking dirt everywhere. Thankfully we have staff, but Sam hates using them that way, usually. "C'mon Dean. Come with Papa, let's get your diaper changed, please."

Dean looks his cute little baby face up at me and I swear I see something there. I don't know much about toddlers, but I think…I think he's testing me, I feel like he wants me to do something about it. About him playing in the plant. When I don't move fast enough, he grabs up a tiny Dean sized fist full of dirt and he makes like he's about to huck it at me. "Don't you dare throw that, Mister Winchester."

I can see the _or else what?_ in his eyes. And he's right, I've got nothing else. He can throw it and nothing is going to happen to him. I've learned enough from Sam to know this is what two-year-olds do. It's not how my father would have handled a tantrum. "Dean," I warn again.

He hucks it at me. Castiel Winchester only has so much patience. "Okay, that's enough baby boy. Papa said no more plant." I snatch him up and he screams.

"Dean! Does it! Dean does it!" His arms flail, he's kicking, dirt's going everywhere.

I know I'm supposed to put him down and let him scream it out (according to Sam and every new age parenting book), but that seems ridiculous, especially at this point. And while that might be the answer for some kids, my instincts are screaming at me that it's not the right thing for Dean. Maybe when he was littler, but not anymore. Without thinking, I pat his diaper-clad bottom firmly. "Settle down."

Fuck. What have I done? I just spanked my two-year-old. He's going to hate me. Sam's going to take him away from me. I'm sure it wasn't hard enough to hurt him, just enough to break the pattern he was running. I expect him to scream louder, but instead I get silence. He takes a shuddery breath, but his screaming halts. We're in a new kind of stand off. Good at thinking on my feet, I decide on a firm look, which I hold him with, as I walk him up the stairs. He's dirty, but he'll probably get a bath after dinner anyway, so I only wipe him down. "Sorry, Papa," he says when I'm finishing up with his diaper. When I lift him to me, he kisses my cheek.

"Thank you, Dean," I say because I'm not sure what to say, I still have to tell Sam what I've done.

When we arrive in the kitchen, Sam's looking more like my Sam than he has in a while, the table looks amazing, I slide Dean into his highchair and notice the dirty puppy is outside. We sit down to dinner, I don't wait to tell him. "Sam, I swatted our two-year-old son. I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

Sam looks between the two of us. "What did he do?" He takes a bite of potatoes, Dean's already begun eating.

"He was having a fit, Sam. I know you say to leave him on the ground, but it just didn't feel right."

"No, I mean, what did he do when you swatted him?"

"He stopped."

"Papa…No does it Dean! Dean does it. Papa, mad."

Great. This is where Sam leaves me and takes our son with him. I think he's going to pull Dean out of his highchair and leave, but he doesn't, he laughs.

Once Dean's in bed, later that night, we talk.

"Cas, Dean needs the kind of structure you provide, what you did today was good, it's what he needed."

"But I thought you said—"

"I know what I said and yeah, when he was really little and getting used to _being_ little, it was too much, but not anymore. But lord help me Cas, I won't be able to do that just yet – he's my cute little bear cub and…that is, can you be the 'bad guy?'"

I don't even have to think about it, if that's what Sam wants that's what he'll get. I know for Sam to ask, it has to be something he really can't bring himself to do. "If I do this Sam, what I say goes. No arguing with me about hard decisions. You aren't going to like some of my decisions and neither is Dean." It's basically a reaffirming of what we already had, putting it back in place.

"Yes, Cassy, please. I trust you. You're so good with him now. You've learned so much. I want my big alpha male back."

TWO WEEKS LATER

After we've made our decision, I'm back in Papa action and I decide to give a little face-lift to the way our home is structured – at least from the way it's been of late. And it's at some point during my overhaul that I realize how much different Dean is now.

He's much more settled into being 'two.' Him as two now versus even just after he 'turned' two, is a different kind of two. He's still got a bit of that edge, that special twinkle, that tells you he's a moddler, in a sea of two-year-olds, I think most could pick him out as 'more advanced' mentally (he's still fairly stunted developmentally) but emotionally, he's all two. So while I'm my strict papa self with him, I'm learning to maneuver through my parenting techniques in a new way, even from when he was growing down.

When he was growing down, I certainly didn't feel any compunction giving him the full effect of my style of discipline. At eighteen months, I backed off completely after a few failed instances, but now, well I can't really describe it as quite one or the other. It's Papa brand strictness, and it's new.

I expect there to be a huge adjustment time, but there isn't. It's like he'd been looking for firm Papa, wondered where he'd gone and missed me, so now he constantly tests me, like he's making sure this Papa will stick around.

Sam's in the shower, I offered to take our two-year-old down to get his breakfast started. It's the weekend, but I'm away working so much these days, I can tell Dean's trying to figure out why I'm still home. That's a good example of how he's become 'more two.' 'Old Dean,' understood how work, worked. With Dean now, it's like we've got to re-explain some of these concepts. Sam thinks it's the Modlenol, that he loses more and more of his memory over time. We're not sure. The more we've been experiencing it, the more we realize what a wild card that crap is. Either way, we've been just going with the flow and all three of us (Sam, Dallas and I) are getting better reading our boy, knowing when he needs things explained.

"Is Papa home from work today?" I ask him, like I would any other two-year-old.

"Yeah."

"Well you're in luck, I am and that means you get Papa's special oatmeal." Somehow, Sam convinced me to decrease the amount of time we have a chef. I don't want Sam doing too much. Long story there, but it's part of 'us.' He did so much for his family growing up, it's easy for him to slip back into that, but he promised he could do more without falling back into that role, that he doesn't want to.

"Ick."

Guess he remembers what special oatmeal is. "It's not ick. You like Papa's special oatmeal."

"No Papa. Dean doesn't."

He's getting better at stringing sentences together. My oatmeal can't be that bad, can it? Dean eats just about anything. "Put some sugar on it," Dallas says as he comes in and pours himself some coffee in a to go mug.

"Huh?"

"Oatmeal's not Dean's favorite. He'll eat it if there's something sweet on it. Sam usually uses brown sugar."

Oh. Guess that's the problem. "Thank you Dallas. Where you off to?"

"Study group."

"On a Saturday?"

"Yeah, they get us doing all these group projects and the only day most of us can meet is usually Saturday. You be good for Papa, Half pint," he says, tousling Dean's hair.

"Ick," is Dean's reply, pointing at the oatmeal. Dally laughs, kisses his crown and abandons me with the unimpressed toddler.

But at least he left me some advice; when he's gone, I add some brown sugar. See? Flexible, that's me. "Okay Dean. Papa put the sugar on it, you like."

"No."

"You don't say 'no' to Papa, Dean. C'mon, open up and eat."

"No."

Did he forget all the other words this morning? But there's something else too, there's the 'no,' but then he watches me for my reaction. "You don't tell Papa 'no,'" I repeat. "Eat your oatmeal Dean. There's sugar on it now." I hold the spoon to his mouth.

"No." Again, his eyes watch me.

"Papa will spank you."

His eyes widen, he remembers what that is from last week and because he does, just the threat has wrangled him into compliance a few times since. I see that sense of wondering in his eyes, will Papa do it?

"No!" He's able to hit the spoon out of my hand, since I wasn't expecting him to and oatmeal splatters over my shirt and the floor.

"Okay little boy. Papa means what he says." I yank him out of the highchair and tap his diapered bottom, he cries, but he curls into me.

"Papa, mad?"

"Papa's displeased. You're being naughty." I sway him as he fusses for a bit longer. It couldn't have hurt, I didn't spank him hard enough, it was more of a pattern interrupt than anything else, like the other day. "Are you ready to eat your oatmeal now?"

"Ick, Papa."

"Do you want more spankings?"

"No. Eat that?" He points to the oatmeal on his highchair tray.

"Yes."

"Papa, says," he declares.

It's my turn to look at him carefully. He's never said that, quite in that way before, like he comprehends the meaning of that – not growing _up_ anyway.

"Yes. Papa says." Since he seems to understand that, I latch onto the axiom.

When Sam comes down Dean's in my lap, eating oatmeal and giggling. "Whoa, you got him to eat your special oatmeal?"

I'm starting to think Sam doesn't like my oatmeal either. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Oatmeal's not his favorite, that's all."

Right. But I let it go. "It wasn't easy."

"That why you have oatmeal on your shirt?" he laughs.

"Yeah."

"Papa, mad," Dean tells Sam with serious eyes.

"Did you get a spanking, Sur?"

"Yeah."

I hardly call it a spanking, but I suppose it's the two-and-a-bit-year-old version.

"In your lap, Cassy? What happened to, 'Dean needs to eat in his own chair?'"

I run my hand through his hair. "He wanted to sit with me." Sam won't let me get away with that.

"Did you feel bad after spanking him?"

"No. It wasn't even a spanking. I tapped his bottom. He…you're right okay? I spoil him like you do because he's cute and I love him so damn much. He was so well behaved after I chastised him, I wanted to indulge him." That's hard for me to admit. I never thought I'd be the indulging kind of parent. "I did not feel bad." And I didn't, still don't, I just wish I did.

Sam smiles. "That's okay, Cassy. A little indulging doesn't ruin your reputation. Dean still knows you’re the Papa. Dean, you want Daddy to feed you the rest?"

"No. Papa does it," he says. I sit a little taller

Still THEN: When Dean is Three

Sam's out with his Stanford friends and Dallas is out with his, it's just Dean and I and he's not pleased. He's fine with just Papa, on his own terms; tonight does not qualify.

"C'mon Kiddo, bath time then it's time for bed – you're a tired boy."

"No! Is waiting for Daddy, Papa."

"Excuse me little man?" He's little, but he knows the rules. I don't grant him clemency for that as often as I used to.

He twists his hands together and says a little less confidently, "Dean waits for Daddy, Papa. Okay?"

"No. Dean has his bath, do you know why?"

"Papa, says."

"Papa does say. C'mon. Let's go."

I follow behind him and Tigger as he takes the stairs one at a time. When we get to the top, Dean decides to throw Tigger off the balcony. "Uh-oh, Papa, Tigger got throwed. We hasta go get him."

"I don't think so. You can wait 'till after your bath if you want to throw Tigger. Papa doesn't play those kind of games."

The water works start immediately. He's a lot quicker to cry now, than when he was growing down. I pick him up and he puts his head on my shoulder still crying. "Want Tigger, Papa!"

"I'll get him for you, after you're all clean. Tiggers can't have baths anyway."

"Doesn't like you Papa!"

Sam's already schooled me about that. According to him, three-year-olds don't really know what they're saying, other than they feel powerful saying it. I say what Sam told me to say, with my own twist. "That isn't a nice thing to say and it hurts Papa's feelings. I also know one little boy that's going to get spanked, if he doesn't start behaving."

I was a lot quicker to spank growing down Dean, but I've learned how to give warnings to this Dean. Usually he responds and he does now scowling at me, hard, as I undress him and take his diaper off. He crosses his arms, tears are still streaking down his face. I let his attitude go, which I also wouldn't have done with a growing down Dean. I'm kinda proud of how I've learned to handle my little one. "Look, Papa has bubbles for you." I'm also getting better at the distract thing.

"He does?"

"Yep."

"We's can play the sea monster game, Papa?"

I have no idea what the sea monster game is. "Of course."

"Okay, Dean 'Chester will have a bath Papa."

I roll my eyes at him when he's not looking.

NOW

"Do you need to talk it over again, Cassy?"

"I think my punishment's too harsh, but I don't see anyway around it. I'm fairly certain he deserves what I've got in mind. I'll know for certain after we've talked."

"Dean knows well enough by now to know what to expect from you if he breaks rules. You're second guessing yourself—you know that never ends well. Dean expects the consequences you give."

"Yes and as always, you're right."

"If you need to hear it again, I fully support you. If he's going to use his car privileges to leave school to skip class then he can expect a consequence. He knows the rules, he broke them."

We don't mind if he leaves on his lunch break, but skipping class is out of the question. "Yeah, but usually there's a why, Sam. I don't think there is this time." I'm saying that mostly to help me think. We've already talked it through, Dean seems to be going through a phase where he's seeing what he can get away with, but when he was in his early teens, Dean's misdeeds were always _because_ of something.

"I'm going to get to work making him an extra good snack to cheer him up after the loss of his car."

I know he's teasing me. We've long since established our roles and we're comfortable with them. "Yeah, Baby. Send him to me when you see him."


	3. Chapter 3

I tap my desk. One. Two. Three. Four. Each finger separately. I have to consider how I say things to Dean. Part of a reprimand is improvement. I want to see his behavior improve, I want him to learn from this experience and like every father, I don't want him suddenly turning into a hooligan.

THEN: DEAN is Fourteen _ish_  


"I don't understand Sam. Maybe I haven't been strict enough."

"You've been strict enough, Cas, he's fourteen, he's just rebelling."

This is by far the most trying Dean's ever been growing down, or growing up. He's never blatantly disobeyed to this extent before. I know the punishment the rules exact and I hold no remorse in doling out the punishment to the deserving party, but I want to make sure he learns something. Can teenagers learn anything? I'm not sure. Dean's suddenly turned into a creature.

He looks harmless, sitting there, in his school uniform, but I'm afraid—afraid I won't say the right words that will get through to my teenager. He looks pissed off and his hair is too long (why did I say he could grow it for hockey? I'm constantly annoyed by it) but he can't look at me and instead looks at his hands, his feet are crossed at the ankles, like I do with mine. I was so angry when I'd heard what he'd done, but right now he looks so vulnerable, reminding me of myself at his age and I have no anger to spare. I sense this is a time for grace.

"Just spank me already," he says.

"You know I will not be goaded into punishments, Dean Winchester. So why try?"

"I dunno. First time for everything?"

"No, try again." I move to the front of my desk and cross my arms, leaning my ass against the edge. I wait for what seems like hours but he refuses to speak. Now I wish I had led with the spanking, sometimes that's a better position for talking with types like Dean. "Is that what you need, Dean? To have this conversation over my knee?"

"No, I'm not six, Papa."

"Since when has age ever factored into spanking in this house?" He's well aware his daddy gets spanked. He's known since the beginning, Sam and I have never hid it from him. I don't spank Sam in front of Dean, it's still important Dean see Sam as authority, but he knows it happens.

"Never, I just, I don't want a spanking, Papa, I…" his voice croaks. "I didn't mean to do it."

"You didn't mean to purposefully decide to blow off your curfew? Forgive me if I'm having trouble understanding." It's hard when he cries like that—it always has been, but I know in the end, Dean will appreciate my strict ways.

He wipes his eyes. "No. I chose to do that. I know I broke the rules, it's just…I can't say it Papa."

I don't mean to be happy about this turn of events, but once again Dean surprises me. Here I thought he was finally on route to becoming a hooligan, something I hear all the other parents constantly talk about, but that's not it at all. Dean's not becoming a hooligan, he acted out. Teenage emotions.

"Take all the time you need, Kiddo."

"Stop being so nice—you should be yelling at me or something."

"You know Winchesters seldom yell, we don't need to and we can get our points across just fine."

"Look, I won't do it again, okay? It was a mistake."

"It was a mistake and no you won't miss curfew again, but that doesn't get you out of this conversation Dean. Start talking."

"It won't change anything. This is stupid. I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay, Mister Winchester, that corner, right over there, until you change your mind. I on the other hand can wait all day." He hadn't just missed curfew as if by accident, he was supposed to be home by ten and he brazenly decided to stay out 'till one am without telling anyone where he was. Sam was beside himself and we had to enlist the help of the angel to find him. Even Dallas wanted to spank him.

"No, I mean, okay I'll talk."

It was a sneaky trick, I know, Dean's not a big fan of corner time, but I'll do whatever it takes to get him talking.

"I was mad because I failed the evaluation, okay? They're not aging me to fifteen, which means no school next year."

"I don't remember making any decisions about school next year, but on the topic of failed evaluations, you said you were fine with it."

"Just go ahead and add lying to my list of misdemeanors, 'cause I'm not okay about it."

"Watch your tone please, we're having a discussion about this, there's no need for your attitude Dean. You know Papa always makes the best decisions for you."

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be a jerk." He wipes at his eyes again.

For this one, it's hard to remain stern. I can see he's really broken up over this, which is more Daddy's department. I'm usually just the garrotter even though Sam says I seem to have my own way of comforting Dean. "And now…and now I've gone and done something stupid and you'll…you're disappointed in me too." His voice cracks and the tear damn bursts.

I thought this was going to be a fairly open and shut case of teen rebellion. He'd tell me he just wanted to have some fun with friends, I'd lecture him, punish him, make him see the error in his ways and we'd move on. But Dean already sees the 'error in his ways,' and needs something more. This has happened a lot over our time with Dean, I've often had to think on my feet when reprimanding Dean. I'm still going to have to hand out punishment; there should be consequences for actions and in this house there always is, but there needs to be more than just punishment here, I can see that now.

First, he needs his spanking now, but I go with a different style than I was planning. "Come with me please Dean." He's still crying as he stands and I lead him over to my leather sofa where I unbutton his school pants for him. "Pull them down for me please, everything."

I can see the usual war in his eyes, the 'I don't want a spanking, but I know I'm going to feel better after' war as he does as instructed, taking down his pants and boxers. I gently lead him over my lap. I don't even lecture, yet, but get to work, spanking the bare skin with my hand. He's already crying, but when it hurts, it will be easier for him to keep crying, so I make sure the spanking's hard enough it stings. It's one he'll feel through dinner and maybe even before bed, but all evidence will be gone in the morning. He may even miss the feeling in the morning, for ones like Dean, the soreness of a spanking can be a warm tingle of safety through an other wise trying day, especially when working through something like this. I wouldn't be surprised if he asks for another spanking tomorrow. This is of course, not the usual type of spanking in consequence for the broken rules, but it's the spanking he needs right now. I'll adjust the other part of his punishment to reflect what his spanking didn't cover.

When I can tell he's reached that point, the point where he's cried all out, I help him pull up his clothing, but leave his shirt untucked and pull him to me, cuddling him like I used to when he was little and letting him cry into my chest. "That better Kiddo?"

"Yeah. Thank you Papa."

"Anytime. If you need more tomorrow, you let me know."

"I will Papa, but I won't."

How many times have I heard that before?

I stand us up and fetch him a tissue. "Blow. We still have a bit of business to take care of."

He takes his seat again and I resume my spot against my desk. "For the record Dean, I disagreed with the evaluation this time, I thought you should have passed. I know that doesn't mean much, but it's true. If they had given me the choice, as they sometimes do, I would have said yes." Dean knows I'd only say that if it was true. I always tell him the truth about stuff like that, even if it's not what he wants to hear.

"It…it does Papa. A lot actually," he sniffles, smiling through his tears.

"As for school, I was thinking, we chose your current school for its AP program, but I'm not thrilled with it. One of the other private schools your daddy and I considered for you and discarded because of its lack of AP program, has one now – how about trying it there? You'd have to take the year over, but at least you'd be in school. Maybe you'll actually make some friends your own age there, hmm?" We try to pace Dean and school. He's doing well, but I don't feel comfortable with him moving up to the next grade yet.

I get a watery smile. "Yeah Papa. That sounds great." He wipes his face, his whole body relaxes.

"Good. That's decided then. I'll let Daddy know, he'll be pleased. I hope you'll remember next time that, that's what we're here for. Yes, you are growing up and into a fine young man at that, but everyone needs help time and again."

"Thank you Papa. I forget sometimes. You and Daddy are really great, I'm just trying to grow up."

"Growing up doesn't mean doing everything independently, Dean. It means knowing when to do things on your own and knowing when to ask for help."

"Yes, sir."

"And to help remind you—"

"Ah man. Papa, that was the spanking of the century."

"It was not, nice try. You know what you can expect when you break the rules. I do not take kindly to missed curfews and rule breaking. You're grounded. Two months." I no longer feel remorse in doling out consequences, harsh consequences, like I used to. By this point, I've either talked it over with Sam at nauseam, or have gone through it enough times in my head to know it's the right thing for my son. Not to say I don't give the odd apology for my harsh ways, but it doesn't change the outcome for our dear Dean 'Chester.

"Two months for one rotten night? That's the rest of school and half of the summer."

Dean knows well how arguing over a punishment irritates me. I don't even get into it, I simply begin expanding the sentence and I don't do anything small. "Congratulations, you've just earned yourself an additional month."

He balls his fists, like Sam does, but unlike Sam, he's not quite at the point of knowing when to stop talking, so I give him fair warning. "Care to make it four? It makes no difference to me how long you're grounded."

"No, sir."

"Okay, we're done here then. You can go complain to Daddy about how mean and unfair I am."

NOW

Of course my dear son couldn't remain quiet about that punishment long and made another attempt to negotiate during dinner and earned himself a four-month sentence.

But back to now. For the most part, Dean is well behaved, so long as I keep firm rules and strict boundaries. But this time, I really think Dean was just goofing off. Only one way to find out…

My suspicions are confirmed when my sheepish son walks into my office. Okay. My decision's made. I've considered all points and I know how I'm handling Dean this time.

"Hi, Papa."

"Don’t you 'hi Papa' me. I'm extremely disappointed young man."

At least that has him showing some signs of remorse. "Is there any reason why I shouldn't tan your hide?" I wait and hope that he constructs a reasonable argument using the debate skills I know he's good at.

"Uh, see that's the thing Father. I don't think I have a good reason. I know I don't, I was just…it was a stupid dare."

"Dare?" It's about as close to yelling as I get, Dean cringes. "You skipped school on a dare?"

"Yeah, yes sir, I…look...it's just going to get me into more trouble. Can we please just leave it at: I was stupid?"

"I'm a afraid not Mr. Winchester, out with it."

Dean groans. "Okay, but this is going to sign my death certificate. I was complaining to Hannah and one of her friends about Mr. Costello's History class. It's freaking boring and I was saying that I bet I could skip the whole year, just show for exams and still pass with flying colors."

I can feel my look darken, Dean tries to make himself smaller.

He continues even though I can tell he really doesn't want to. "She dared me to do it."

"That's it? Someone dares you and just like that, you're in? I'm disappointed." Yes, I know I've already said that, I'll likely be saying that a few more times this hour.

"Well not just like that," he defends. "Hannah piped in that I'd never do it, that I'm too chicken to…because my parents would kill me."

"She wasn't wrong." I like Hannah and Sam loves her because she's Dean's best friend, but I'm not fond of her parent's Hipster, free flowing, no boundaries parenting techniques. She tends to egg Dean on, like now. Of course, I consider Dean one hundred percent at fault, he should resist temptation, but her taunting doesn't exactly endear me to her. "What have I told you about Winchester pride? This time you've let it get you into trouble." Now I sound like my father.

"I know, sir. I'm sorry. Told you it was stupid."

"This is an open and shut case of rule breaking. You're getting a spanking and I'm adding three strokes with my cane for allowing your pride to get the best of you. You can feel that while you sit in _History_ class tomorrow – it's a sure fire cure for boredom."

He swallows and sit ups straighter. "Your cane, Papa?"

"That's what I said." I've never used my cane on Dean. I've never felt I've needed to, but lately, he's been prone to these acts of mischief and I want them curtailed now. "I might have reconsidered those strokes and your other punishment, if you had come clean, but I had to find out from my secretary." Dean had the misfortune of being spotted by him on a coffee run for the office, six times. He didn't mean to get Dean in trouble, but he casually asked me why my son was always in Koener's Coffee Palace every Wednesday at two. And did he not have school?

"That guy's like James Bond. I never even saw him. Do I get points for the fact that I was doing my History work self guided?"

"No."

"You mentioned another punishment? Am I grounded?"

"No, but your car is. Keys please."

"What, like to Baby?"

"Do you own another vehicle I should know about? If so, I'm going to need the keys to any and all vehicles you might own."

"Not funny, Papa." He reluctantly relinquishes his keys.

Really? I thought I was hilarious.

"How long?"

"Four weeks." Which is kind. After that tale, I want to take his car privileges away indefinitely.

"How am I supposed to get to school?"

"Daddy can take you."

"That's embarrassing – can't I at least have her during school?"

"That's why she's being taken away in the first place, Dean, because of how you used her for school. Was I somehow unclear?"

"But my car, Papa? This is over the line!"

" _Excuse_ me?"

The look on his face says, he finally remembers to whom he is speaking. "I am not pleased and you're lucky you're not being grounded too. For your attitude, I'm increasing your restriction to two months, argue anymore and I can make it so you don't see Baby 'till your eighteenth birthday." _His_ eighteenth birthday, which I don't think is going to be anytime soon.

I get a very tiny "yes, sir," as he plays with the hem of his school jacket and an, "I'm sorry."

"You don't sound sorry. This is serious Dean. We've sent you to a nice school, one most people can't afford. We've given you all kinds of privileges and responsibilities this year, which we felt you both earned and deserved. But this, _this_ was incredibly immature as well as ungrateful. The least you can do is display a little contrition."

He's twisting his hands a bit (reminding me of his little three-year-old self) unsure what to do with them and unable to look me in the eyes. "I'll make it up to you, sir," he says finally.

"Thank you Dean. I'll look forward to that. Now up, jacket and pants off. You're getting a good spanking for this and I never want to hear of you missing a class again."

I can tell he's already on the verge of tears after being taken to task, but he gets up and does as I've asked him. I have a chair I keep in my office, just for such purposes, I pull it out and set it beside my desk, a few feet away. I also reach into my desk and pull out my bamboo paddle and set it within reach on my desk. When Dean's left in just his white, long-sleeved school shirt and boxers, he returns to me, his eyes fall to the paddle I've placed out, but he doesn't say a word. I sit and carefully guide him over my lap.

He lifts his hips as I pull down the white boxers, straight to his ankles and he holds himself in place as I push his shirt up his back. Dean earns enough spankings, that his bottom is well seasoned, but I still begin with a swift hand spanking on his bare bottom, before I begin with my paddle, it takes his breath away.

I rub his back when I reach for the paddle. "You okay, Kiddo?"

"Yes, sir."

Dean's always been good at taking spankings.

I rub the paddle over both his cheeks and get to work, alternating firm swats to each cheek, reddening the skin. Sometimes I lecture Dean when I spank him and sometimes I don't. I feel like I've already reamed him out pretty good, I can tell he's finally reached the level of contrition I expect of him; a lecture is redundant at this point at least for Dean. Judging by his level of fidgeting and the color of his skin, it hurts. I usually have in mind how many hours or days I want to make sitting uncomfortable for him. When he was younger, it was always just enough to get a good sting going, until he reached ten-years-old, then I introduced him to my paddle for the first time. But through his teens, I got increasingly tough on him – he could and can handle it.

He's grabbed onto my pant leg and is crying into it, his feet kicking now and again. This spanking, he's going to feel at least three days and he likely won't want to sit through dinner.

When I'm done, I set the paddle down and rub his back for a moment while he cries into my pant leg. I let him calm down 'till he's ready to get up again.

Spankings. Often, it's missed how the Top feels after a spanking. I am Dean's Father, _**not**_ his Top, but I'm still a Top personality. Spanking helps me too after such a remonstration with my son. Spanking brings him a sense of safety and I feel relieved knowing I'm keeping him safe. I feel better inside and I'm not as displeased. Spanking brings balance and we can both feel ourselves again. I still have to give him the promised three cane strokes.

"Okay, Kiddo. Up. Just one more thing and you can go see Daddy."

"I'm not a little kid Papa."

"No, you're not. Just my mischievous, dare-devil teen," I say shaking my head fondly. "Over the chair please, hands flat on the seat."

He hesitates. "Pa-papa? I swear I'm not arguing about the punishment you've given me, but I'm, well I'm a bit scared." We've always taught Dean to voice his concerns, so long as he's respectful.

"Oh, Kiddo. That's just because it's new. You'll be fine. Papa will go slow, okay?"

He nods.

"Step out of those, it'll be easier for you." I help him out of the white boxers pooling around his ankles. He uses me to balance as he steps out of them.

He places himself over the chair back, palms down like I asked. I pull out the well-oiled rattan cane from the corner behind my desk. I don't use nearly the force I do with Sam, whom I've used this on many times, but I do give enough power to leave a white stripe across his red ass. "Mother fudge that stings!" he says after the first strike, shifting from foot to foot, but maintaining position.

"These," I say releasing the second stripe, just a little lower down. "Are for using your Winchester pride, for foolishness." I place the last one at top of his thighs, right where thigh and buttock intersect.

"Ow! That thing's nasty Papa." He stands up rubbing his ass and I don't scold him for it like I should, nor do I scold him for breaking position. If he were Sam, Sam would be going back over for three more.

Instead I give him stern eyes with a final swat from my hand. "Don't do it again."

"Yes, sir." He wipes at his eyes as I return the cane to its spot and retrieve the aloe. "That wasn't nice," he complains as I rub some over his red bottom.

My face cracks into a smile. "No one feels sorry for little boys who can't do what they're told."

I hand him his boxer shorts and he slides in to them gingerly, I doubt he'll want to put on his restrictive school pants after that. All of it from beginning to end is different, for me, compared to when my father used to discipline me as a teen. Father was always much harsher, colder. As much as Dean says my face is as readable as granite in the dark during a reprimand, I don't feel that way inside. I feel like my feelings of warmth and care can be seen from space. It's how I feel after I give spankings, like I've just given my absolute form of care. However, I understand that for him, he's more apt to read the displeasure I feel over his actions. He's not wrong, some of that is there too, but my displeasure is stronger before I've punished him. After, I feel absolved of his actions too.

"Papa?" he says after he collects the rest of his clothes.

"Yeah, Angel?"

He doesn't say whatever he was about to, instead colliding with my body and wrapping himself around my torso. I respond immediately, wrapping my arms around him. "I'm sorry. It was dumb. I won't do it again."

I kiss his crown. "I hope not. For your ass's sake."

"I'm telling Daddy you said ass," he says looking up and smiling at me.

"Go on then. Go complain to Daddy," I say sending him away.

I give them time by doing a bit of work from home and when I figure it's safe, I join them both in the kitchen. Before I enter, I wait a moment, so I can hear just a little of their Papa-free conversation. I know my boy, but there's no harm in just a little assurance I've done the right thing.

"But my car Daddy? Poor Baby. All alone and for two months!"

I knew he'd be more upset about that than the spanking.

"You were naughty Dean Daniel. If I didn't know better, I'd think you had a death wish, skipping school like that. You're lucky, Papa let you off easy in my opinion."

"I know. I just…I hate disappointing him, he really let me have it this time."

"You were arrogant, sloughed off authority, disobeyed house rules and proceeded to be lippy with Papa by the sounds of it – am I missing anything?"

"No, sir," Dean sighs. "When you put it like that…"

That's the moment I make my appearance known. Dean's changed into loose jogging pants and a white t-shirt, standing at the kitchen counter eating the snack Sam prepared for him. Sam's sitting on the bench seat at the kitchen table, facing toward Dean drinking a mug of something. "Did you rat me out?" I ask.

"Rat you out?" Sam asks.

"Papa said ass."

"Dean Winchester. Was that spanking not enough for you?"

I laugh and so does Dean. "What time is dinner?"

"Daddy says we can order out, in effort to cheer me up since you were so hard on me."

"Dean."

"Too soon? Okay. I'm just kidding Papa," he smiles.

That's when the god forsaken angel slides through the kitchen's glass door. He's gotten too comfortable around here if you ask me.

"Hello my Duckling, you're still alive. Good," he says as if it's no hardship either way. Dean may be too young to have the angel figured out, but I do. I've watched him. Closely. He loves my son as much as I do, but that's not why I let him stay.

"Michael!"

I try not to be jealous of the pure joy Dean has every time he sees the bloody angel. There was a time when Papa was his hero, but I guess he's long grown out of that. I can't help how I feel, only how I act, so I allow the angel here, for Dean.

Because he makes Dean happy. If that ever ends, so does the angel's sanctity in my home.

Dean runs to him and the angel wraps him in a hug. Dean doesn't see it – the angel's careful never to let Dean see it – but for the smallest of seconds, the angel allows himself to sink into Dean, to feel Dean's love and give it back. He lets Dean remain in his arms as he kisses his head even, but now, Dean's the only one with pure adoration in his eyes.

"Hey Papa, maybe Michael can drive me to school some days?"

"I'm starting to get the impression that you don't realize the gravity of your misdemeanor, not if you're asking for stuff so soon."

"Oh, I do Papa." There's no sarcasm in his voice, the look in his eyes is significant.

"Why are you pestering your father?" Michael asks.

He's always trying to suck up to me – that angel is such a brown noser. He probably thinks he'll find some way to marry Dean too. Wrong.

"He confiscated my car."

"Good. I don't feel sorry for you – leaving the school grounds, anything could have happened to you."

"Nobody feels sorry for me. Some one should."

I do a little, but I won't say. I'm hard on him because I care; he needs it. In the end, it's always been the best form of guidance for Dean.

"Behave yourself for one week and we can visit the topic of Michael driving you to school."

Sam's jaw drops.

"Really, Papa?" Dean drops Michael like a hot potato and runs over to squeeze me. "Thank you! I will behave. I'll be the bestest Dean 'Chester, ever."

"See? Papa spoils you," Sam says clicking his tongue.

"I'll say. No one's even asked me if I'd _like_ to drive him to school. Who says I agree with this? He's supposed to be suffering through punishment, not be given a reward. "

Michael doesn't mean any of that, but Dean doesn't know and moves back to whack him across the shoulder. I can barely contain my smile. "You'll drive him if I say you will," I tell the angel in no uncertain terms.

"Yeah," Dean says looking toward me. "What Papa says, goes. What Papa says _always_ goes."

_That's been a constant: Papa says. Always has been that way and always will be._

Later when it's just Sam and I (Dean somehow convinced me, to allow him to go out with the angel after dinner), we're relaxing on the couch, his large body is curled into me. "You're such a good Papa, Dean adores you, you know."

"I've been replaced. I'm just the jerk that took his car away."

"Aw Cassy, he just likes to complain – he's a teenager. I know for fact he appreciates the structure you bring to his life. You're still his hero Cas, you always will be. By the time you clearly overheard us, I'd already worked my daddy magic on him. He feels really bad he let you down. Be prepared for some Dean Winchester style sucking up."

I laugh. "Did he tell you what happened?" I shake my head. "Doing history in a coffee shop because his teacher's too boring."

Sam laughs with me. "That's our boy."

"Ridiculous. If I'd of done that when I was his age…"

Sam's eyes widen. "I know. Dean's lucky you spoil him."

"That boy needs firm discipline and I give it."

"Yes, you do Cassy. But, what I'm saying is, you give him that and lots of love too and he appreciates it, he's just too teen to know how to say it. Maybe when he's older."

I kiss my husband for that, glad to know I'm still our son's hero. "Now how about you?"

"Your spanking hand's not broken after today?"

"I have enough juice left for you, Baby. Always."

"I'd like that Cas, but, shouldn't we wait up for Dean?"

I pull him up off the couch. "No. I trust him. He'll be home and safe. He's with the angel."

"The angel has a name, Cas."

I sigh. Sam has particular affections for the angel too. "He's with _Michael_. Now c'mon. I'm certain my calendar says: Time to spank Sam on it."

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates: 
> 
> You will get a few chapters of the Mock Original a little faster than GUW, which is next. I want to make sure I get a part just right, so am fermenting on it a little longer. 
> 
> BDD and WW are next after that! So updates, soon!


	4. Scene Where Dean Gets Caught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say I'd do this (I know, took me long enough) but I'd be lying if I claimed that to be the only reason I wrote this. This was a total Mock indulgence. We all know how much I love discipline scenes and while there is no spanking in this scene, it's full of some of the other kinds of stuff I like. 
> 
> I do hope it will also be enjoyed by all here too! I loved writing it. There are also more Harry Potter shout outs. Still haven't accepted AR's passing. It's not like we were BFF or anything, but I think I've written so much SS/HP FF, I feel about him as I do one of my characters. I know that's crazy, but there you have it! Just laugh at crazy Mock.

_Dean Winchester is no chicken. He's the kind of guy who bites into his honey crueler with purpose. The kind of guy who can skip class, in a coffee shop and not give a rat's ass if his parents find out…_ But just in case they might be here, I look around, before sneaking the last bite of my donut and wipe all crumb-evidence off my fingertips—Daddy would kill me if he knew I was eating donuts so close to dinner.

I wash down the delicious, sugary dough with hot, sharp coffee and continue reading this week's history lesson. My plan, thus far, has been going off without a hitch, only it doesn't feel like a very fun plan; skipping school to do school? How did I get roped into this, again? Oh right. My stubborn, Winchester Pride. Couldn't back down from Hannah's dare. But come on! Telling me I'm _afraid_ of getting caught by my parents. I'm not afraid, just, wisely cautious.

My parents are strict. She has no idea what that means. Her parents took the 'no rules to raise a creative child' approach, but I think they kinda misunderstood that advice. As much as not being grounded half my life would work better for my social life, I feel better knowing there are some boundaries. (Don't tell my parents that) Daddy let me be plenty creative, when Papa wasn't home, but there are rules and they're not ridiculous rules, they're just regular rules. Rules to make sure I don't turn into a hooligan. Papa says.

Actually, since sixteen, Papa's been quite generous with privileges. A Winchester thing. When you reach a particular level of maturity, responsibility is piled on you to see how you handle such responsibilities. If you suck, there are consequences, so you can do better and hopefully not suck at life. Which works pretty good for me. Hannah doesn't do too badly for never having consequences, but I do question some of her decisions at times. Me? I wouldn't be doing as well as she is with such flighty parenting. I wouldn't be skipping school to do school, I'll tell you that.

My hope is that if I do get caught, somehow, Papa and Daddy will see it as something hilarious. Maybe, they'll be impressed at my awesome self-study skills. I have visions of Papa shaking my hand, congratulating me. Daddy will bake me his special choco-Dean-brownies. Uncle Dal will write me another song and Michael can fuck off if he says one word about me leaving the school, which will be his complaint about all this (there isn't any world I see him doing anything but complain), if any of them even find out that is, which they won't.

I pull my Dre Beats out of my school bag, cover my ears with them and turn on some Metallica, as I take some notes from my history text and drum a Lars solo with my pen. The guy's such a douche, Lars, but man can he play the drums. I'm really into it after a few songs, which is why it takes the dude who taps me on the shoulder a really firm couple of taps to get my attention.

I pop a headphone off. "Yeah?"

He's a good looking guy, messy blonde; tanned; looks older. Surfer. "Uh, dude. There's two old dudes staring at you. You want me to, like, call the police or something? The one in the trench coat's kinda hot, but he looks freakin' scary, man."

Did he say trench coat?

I don't want to look. Don't want to look, don't want to look, but now that I've been notified of their presence, all I can feel are their eyes, both sets, burrowing into me. It's suddenly fucking cold in here and I feel like I might start hyperventilating.

"Dude?"

Oh yeah, surfer guy. "No. I'm, okay," I pause because I'm not sure that's true. I think I'm about to be turned into dog food. "Those are my parents." They're sitting at another table, watching me, looking nothing like I hoped. Papa looks like he's trying to refrain from doing his finger-tapping thing, which he should just do, because the not-doing it is about to make him combust. Even Daddy is pissed. There's no trace of humor on his face. They're both drinking coffees; observing me, I guess to make sure it's really me, their son and that yes I am doing something as stupid as skipping school without their permission. I know Daddy's is a latte, extra foam with a small dollop of honey and Papa's is an Americano with cream, no sugar.

"Whoa. Dude. I could, you know, cause a distraction and you could run."

_Tempting._

"I'll be okay."

"If you're sure. If you live, call me." He hands me a business card. I pocket it. I do have a thing for older men. It's got the added bonus of pissing Michael off. He prefers when I stick to kids my own age, but he fucks who he wants, so I fuck who I want.

Soon as that guy leaves, my parents bring themselves and their coffees over to sit with me. Daddy sits beside me on the couch. He's so freaking tall, the couch is too low for him and his legs have to bend sharply, making his knees sit taller than his upper thighs. Papa takes a seat across from us in the soft arm-chair and causally sips his coffee before placing it down on the table (with my books) and sets his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in the center. He looks foreboding with his coat fanned around him like that, combined with the unyielding look in his eyes.

"H-hi Daddy," I say, pulling off my headphones. "Early workday Papa?"

"Tell me Dean, what time is it?"

I pick my phone up and check the time, even though I have a pretty good guestimate on the time; anything to avoid looking at him a moment longer. "One-thirty, sir." 'Papa' has just become 'sir,' or 'Father.' I don't know how I know when to make that switch, I just sense it; only seldom needing a reminder. I have to look at my hands, or any spot really, that's not Papa's eyes.

"Oh good. I was concerned you thought skipping school was permitted, since this has apparently become ritual."

What the actual fuck? How does he _know_ that? I flick my eyes up to him, briefly, _holy fuck his eyes are dark,_ then back down to my hands. I feel like everyone in this place is staring at me, though likely they're not. I chance looking over at Daddy. Mistake. Seeing the disappointment and anger in his usually hello-my-special-boy-you-hung-the-moon-again?-eyes, rips at my heart and makes the pit in my stomach widen.

"I can, uh, I can explain."

"Yes. You will explain," he says with so much chilling certainty, it would make anyone's stomach coil. He stands up, wipes invisible dirt off of his black slacks. "Pack up your stuff. Sam, you go with him."

Papa glides out of the coffee shop, smooth and assuredly. I can still feel the anger pouring off of him when he's several steps away. And when he's gone, fuck, the tears come and I don't want them to, so I wipe at them and try to use my own version of anger (at myself) to stop them and not fucking embarrass myself in front of the whole damn coffee shop. Daddy takes some pity on me (only a very little bit) because he knows exactly how it feels to have Castiel Winchester that disappointed in you and starts helping me pack up my stuff. It's the worst feeling in the world. _He'll never trust me again. I've lost his good opinion forever,_ are the thoughts running through my head.

He's quiet though, giving away his own feelings on my latest escapade and that, compounded with the crushing weight of Papa's disappointment makes me feel the worst I've ever felt. _This is why I don't do this kind of dumb shit._ I haven't even been punished yet, which I will be and I already regret my choice.

When I'm packed up, Daddy rests a hand on the back of my neck, frog-marching me out of the shop, all our unfinished coffees are left behind.

"I'll drive, Sur," Daddy says, holding out his hands for my keys when we get to the Impala. I hate anyone else driving her but me. Least it's not a dick angel, but still. I hand him the keys without argument, because he's not asking and slide into the passenger seat, slinking down, feeling sorry for myself. _This is the worst._

"I'm really sorry, Daddy," I say, wiping at yet more tears as we drive home. To my doom.

He sighs. "Dean, why? Why?"

Those are two very frustrated 'whys.' "It was stupid. Do I get any clemency for skipping school, to do school? I did all my history work, every time."

"Unless you can tell us and prove you've developed a rare form of amnesia, one that makes you forget that you're supposed to be in class until school lets you out, not when Dean Winchester lets himself out, then I'd say the answer to that is a firm no."

Things don't get better once we get home. I do get my keys back from Daddy, but Papa's there, waiting and if you think he was scary in the coffee shop, he's terrifying now. He doesn't have to worry about witnesses. "Let's hear it Dean. The really good reason we found you at a coffee shop instead of school and further, the reason you've made the decision to do so, at least six times that I know of without permission from Daddy, Uncle Dallas, or me."

"I, I, I, there isn't one, sir," I say and look at my feet.

"Tell me the truth Dean and fair warning, your teenage social life is on the line. Is this a case of Dean Winchester brand mischief?"

"Yeah. I mean yes, sir." This is not a good time for the casualties I'm normally afforded with my parents. I'm very aware that Papa and Daddy don't get any with Grampa and Gramma and I think it bothers Grampa that Papa doesn't implement a more formal code of address between the two of us. When I'm in trouble, that privilege is gone.

"Very well. Straight to your room, Mr. Winchester and when I come in to speak with you, you'd better be doing the least fun thing you can think of."

"Yes, sir." I'm more than grateful to be sent to my room. It means I don't have to look at either of them, or more accurately, actively avoid looking at either of them.

I want to tell Papa that I'm already doing the least fun thing I can think of; being on both of their naughty-lists, but I'm sure that's not what he means. I run up the stairs and slog my book-bag down beside my desk, then collapse onto my bed and try to come up with something that will impress Papa when he comes up to speak with me, but my mind's drawing a blank.

I think about texting Michael. When he hears about this, he's going to be pissed too. My parents weren't the only ones I was deceiving. I know what I'm going to get, but I'm almost craving Michael's brand of scolding. We have a super fucked up relationship. Don't even know how to describe it. We're definitely not together, but I really try not to piss him off. Um. Okay that's a lie. I try not to 'over-the-line' piss him off. Michael spanks me. It's so much different than my parents spanking me. I like doing things that I think might get him to spank me, then immediately regret the decisions leading me to the spanking when said spanking is about to take place. But I feel more, _his._ I'm not his. We fuck consistently now, but that's in between a lot of fucking extras.

We've also begun fighting more since we started fucking more, which goes with the package, I guess. Though, we've been fighting since the day we meet, so not new; guess it just feels more intense.

 _Got caught skipping school. Awaiting my beheading._ Send.

_Call me._

_Yeah. That's smart. Sure fire way to get caught. I don't even want to think of my father catching me on my phone. I'm supposed to be doing the least fun thing I can think of, so I'm texting you. Scold away._ Send. I hope he feels honored.

_'Father?' Hmmm. I doubt you need scolding from me. Not to say I'm not hoping he'll bring the hammer down on you. Hard. You deserve everything you get._

I don't know why, but that makes me feel better. You'd think I'd want to hear, 'there, there, everything will be okay,' but I don't. That. What he said. That's what I want to hear. I can picture how he says it, his tone and inflection. It's soothing whether I want it to be or not. _But for the record, if I don't think he's spanked you hard enough I'm pulling out my paddle._

I think he means it. _No way. You're not spanking me for the same thing twice._

_I will if I think you need it._

_That's not how it works._

_That is how it works._

_Not._

_Is._

_Not._

_Is._

_Fuck off, Michael._

Michael doesn't answer after that and I don't fucking care. He was supposed to scold me, not turn into a dickhead. 'Cept now I feel worse. Least I can safely say to Papa I'm doing the least fun thing I could think of. Uh, but I might not mention that I was text-fighting with Michael.

I deicide on homework. Nothing else in my room is less fun than that.

I perk up when I finally hear a knock at my door hours later. It's Uncle Dal and he's got food. He's been here the week, even though he's got his own place here in Collins. He's got a few concerts coming up and wanted to spend some time with us before he's away again. He leaves early tomorrow. "Rations for the prisoner," he says joking in his Uncle Dally way. I don't mean to let my face fall, but I was hoping it would be Papa. Earlier, I could barely look at him, now all I want to do is tell him how sorry I am and hear him say he forgives me.

"Hey Uncle Dal. I'm not allowed out for dinner, I take it?"

"'Fraid not half pint." He sets the tray of food down. "They're both mad. Neither of them wants to get upset with you. Can't say I don't feel like just turning you over my knee myself. What were you thinking?"

That makes me really not hungry. "I wasn't. The whole thing was stupid." So stupid, I can't bring myself to tell Uncle Dal what I did.

"Well, as of now, they're mad at your school too. They're wondering why they didn't get phone calls when you weren't recorded as being in class."

I can answer that one. "See that's the thing Uncle Dal. My history teacher really is absent-minded! It proves I'm right. I'm better off learning from a rock than from him. I can prove my self-study program was working. He probably hasn't even noticed me missing from class."

That was not the thing to say to Uncle Dal. "That's a topic that files under 'talk to one of us about it,' not make the decision yourself. You know that, Sur. I hope you have something better than that to tell your father."

I don't. Fact: When I tell him the whole story, I'm going to be more dead than I am now. "I'm really sorry, Uncle Dal."

"I forgive you Dean and your parents will too."

"I know. This just sucks."

Thankfully, his straight, disapproving lips, spread into a smile. "C'mere half pint." He opens his arms and I'm sliding out my chair, running to them. "You're a silly, boy."

"Think there's any chance Papa will see it that way?"

"I know he does, only he might have phrased it different."

I've grown, but Uncle Dal is still a head taller than me. He's almost as tall as Daddy. I've still got a ways to go to catch up to them. Daddy thinks I'm due another growth spurt before I'm done growing. "Will you put in a good word for me? I promise I'll never do this again."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, half pint," he laughs. "I'll still put in a good word for you." He ruffles my hair as he pulls away. "And tip? I'm pretty sure I heard Cas say, _that boy better be busying himself by writing some lines about why we found him in a coffee shop in the middle of the day,_ " he says trying to do an impression of Papa.

I laugh at his impression, but inside I cringe. I haven't been doing that and I should have thought of it.

When he leaves, I finish my homework (which I don't regret doing, I will get asked), eat my dinner and start on some lines. Only, I have to come up with them myself. Sure, I've got a bit of a prompt from Papa via Uncle Dal, but I have no idea what to write. I end up going for a bit of humor, hoping it softens him even the tiniest bit.

_I, Dean Winchester, do solemnly swear I was up to no good. The coffee shop is not a refuge for run away history students and if I thought otherwise, clearly I either have a rare form of amnesia, or a death wish. Neither is true, so I should have been in class, where my parents expect to find me at one-thirty in the afternoon._

Not nearly as long as Papa's dreadful lines, but longer than lines are supposed to be in my opinion, so he'll be impressed with the length and Papa'll never tell you, but he's a huge Harry Potter fan. 'Cept watching it with him sucks. He continually complains about how the 'Golden Gyrffindor Trio' needed a much firmer hand and how he quite likes the Snape fellow.

My next visitor, is Daddy. "How you doing, Dean Bean?"

Dean Bean is a good sign. His voice is stern (for Daddy) with an undercurrent of displeasure, but he's breaking down. Daddy usually breaks first. "I'm okay, Daddy. Thanks for dinner," I say, since I know he put my dinner together.

"Sorry about no dessert. Your father said no. He's still pretty mad and I am too, Sur." Daddy sits on the bed. With Daddy, I feel bad for him having to be mad at me at all. He hates being mad at me, so much, it tears him up inside. Half the time I decide not to do the thing that will get me into trouble, is based on worrying about him being at odds with himself.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. Look. I'm doing _lines_ and I did all my homework. Haven't even looked at my phone for hours. Was fudging hard. Forgive me?" It was really hard. Especially because I want to see if Michael finally text me back. I put it on vibrate under my pillow, so I wouldn't hear it.

He holds his arms open for me, like Uncle Dal did. Daddy can't resist the Dean eyes no matter how much he might want to. "Not fair," he says when I'm squeezing him. "I'm supposed to stay mad at you. You broke Daddy's heart. What if we came by the school for some reason and you weren't there? Never mind my feelings on you skipping class in general."

I don't think any age will take away the magic of one of Daddy's hugs, or how big he seems to feel no matter how much I grow. He's so giant, he's consuming and cozy. "The way I see it, Papa's going to spank me good and he's got more than enough 'mad' for the two of you." I hope. _Yeah. I hope._ It's starting to become an 'I hope' situation. It's almost the time I should wisely be getting ready for bed and Papa still hasn't come up to speak with me. He is going to come, right?

"That is a certainty Dean Daniel. Lordy Bee. Why you do the things you know your father won't like, I'll never know."

"Wanna see the lines I did? Maybe you can add something you think will win Papa over."

I grab them and he takes a look, smiling as he reads. "I think I should get some credit here. This was my line."

"So? They're okay then?"

"They're okay. Don't get your hopes up though, sweetheart. Unless you might possibly have been fibbing about not having a good reason…" Poor Daddy. Still believing in me.

"No." And I hope he doesn't make me tell him the story just yet.

"Then expect your father to be harsh."

Crap. Even he's using _Father._

"You know, Dean, if you had come clean instead of waiting to get caught, your father wouldn't be nearly so harsh. He is a reasonable guy and he appreciates owning up. A lot," he reminds me. I know that well. When I was younger, on a family trip down South, some of my cousins decided to sneak out one night. I was completely set on going with them. There was no real reason other than Colt mischief. Kids who wanted to see what the middle of the night looked like. My parents have always been the strictest of their siblings, whether we're talking the Colts or the Winchesters. No surprise there. They would generously extend bedtime while on vacation, but it was still earlier than any other of my cousins, especially since the Colts don't really have bedtimes. For me to pull off sneaking out, it involved a lot of lying and deception, more than was required from any of my other cousins. I made it through, right up until my cousins came to get me that night, but I changed my mind and pretended I was asleep 'till they went away.

The whole ordeal ate at me 'till we got home. I was nine. I felt so god damned guilty, I told on myself. I thought for sure I'd get like five seperate spankings plus grounded for life. I lied. Broke house rules. I was so scared. To my surprise, though he lectured me good and I did get a spanking, that was it. It wasn't even a notable spanking. He even thanked me and told me how proud he was of me for telling the truth and not going through with the sneak-out.

Of course every situation is different. I haven't gotten off that easy every time I've come clean, but Papa is way less powerful with that hammer of his when I do.

"How did I get caught anyway? Do you guys have spies watching me, Daddy?"

He laughs. "No. Papa's assistant gets coffees for the office there every afternoon."

"What? But that's well out of route. Ridiculous," I mutter. I can't believe that guy ratted me out.

"We both feel betrayed Dean."

Fuck. Daddy's laying it on thick. I feel like a huge asshole. "I'm going to make it up to you both. I swear."

"Just don't do it again and that will be enough." He kisses the top of my head. "It's probably time for you to go to bed."

I feel my soul sink. "Isn't Papa going to, uh, come up?"

"He will sweetheart. He's just finishing something for work. I'm not sure you're going to want him to though. He's just going to wring you out."

"I don't care, Daddy. I just want to tell him I'm sorry."

When Daddy leaves, I do get ready for bed, but I refuse to go to sleep. I plan on working on my self-appointed lines from bed and aid of my bedside lamp, but before that, I check my phone to see if Michael's responded. If I hadn't been so distracted thinking about Papa, then I would have been distracted thinking about Michael and how much of a dick he is. There are messages. The first saying, _When you're ready to apologize, let me know._

Fucking dick. Me apologize? For what? I read the next message. _Dean. Dean?! This isn't funny. Answer me._

Demanding asshole. He didn't fucking answer me right away. Next message. _If you don't answer me, I'm coming over there. How much do you think Papa Winchester's going to like that?_

Shit. And there are five missed calls from him. I'm not nice when I answer. I don't care about being nice. _Don't you dare fucking come over here. I'm fine, just not talking to you. You're not the fucking boss of me._ Send.

Immediately, I feel that excited buzz through my body. Yeah, I told him off. That he's not the fucking boss of me, but he kinda _is_ the fucking boss of me. I mean, when it comes down to it, I do what Michael says, but we have nothing official. We're officially-unofficial, or unofficially-official. I kinda want to see what he does when I 'brat-out' like that.

_On my way over._

Fuck. _Okay. Okay. Please. I'm sorry. SORRY! See the all caps?_

_Better._

_I really do have to go though. Papa Winchester is coming up soon to do some Winchestering. Talk tomorrow?_

_Acceptable. I expect you to be on your best behavior tomorrow, Duck._

_Only if you stop calling me that._

_Goodnight._ In other words, no.

_Goodnight_

I ditch my phone just in time for Papa's knock. "Come in."

Papa's actually changed out of his work clothes. He's got on a navy blue button down with black stripes (the one Daddy likes) and his nice blue jeans. "Hello, Dean."

"Hello, Father."

He takes a look around my room. "How does it get so messy in here, Dean? We have maids that come once a week. I don't think it's too much to ask; keeping your room tidy."

When you've done something that's put Papa out, he thinks it's time to crack down on everything. "Yes, sir. I was, doing my homework and look, lines," I point out, showing him the work in my lap.

"I'll look in a minute Dean. I want to speak with you first."

 _Crap. Here goes._ "Yes, sir." It's hard not to twist my hands. I've wanted him to come up for the past few hours, but now, I'm nervous. I have this irrational fear he's not going to forgive me. I know that's not true, but I'm acting like it is anyway.

"I'm going to be honest Dean, I'm still angry, which is why I'm not going to deal with you tonight. I only came to tell you that I'm displeased," yeah, got that memo, "and we'll meet tomorrow after school. Good news for you. You have another eighteen hours to come up with a reasonable explanation for deliberately sloughing off school to hang out in a coffee shop several times."

He's hopeful. He doesn't like being mad at me either, he's just a lot less broken up about it than Daddy is, but still let down. Papa's not quite as delusional as Grampa is, over how amazing I am, but he's still got some of that 'Dean-on-a-pedestal' mentality happening and when I'm not like his vision, the disappointment crushes him as much as his disappointment crushes me.

I don't have a good reason of course. I know Papa and 'Because I accepted a dare from my friend' is not something he would call a good reason. Nor is, 'Because my history teacher sucks and I can do better.' Uncle Dally's right, I can't say that to Papa. He's liable to send me to bed with a red ass for that alone. I shake my head and look at my stupid lines.

He shakes his head and sighs a frustrated sigh. A sigh that says he doesn't know what to do with me and it breaks me. I quickly wipe the tear that comes not wanting him to see it. Daddy and I both hate getting that sigh and often the tears come. We don't want them to, feeling like we deserve the Castiel Winchester sigh of extreme disappointment, but they come anyway and it's not fair to Papa.

Thankfully, I don't think he's seen the tear. "I'm really sorry, sir."

"I'm not sure if you are, but you will be tomorrow, Dean. Straight to school and straight home, am I clear?"

Except I really am now. _Why do I do shit like this?_ I can't look at him anymore, or I will cry. My whole face feels like it's burning; it's taking everything in me to hold the tears back. This feels so awful. "Yes, sir."

Several long minutes of silence pass, neither of us knowing what to say, then finally Papa speaks. "Let me have a look at that."

I _jump_ at the chance to please him and thrust the paper at him, wiping the tears that are pooling in my eyes with my forearm, after he takes the papers from me. I wait with giddy anticipation, as he looks them over. Thank God I'm charming, I think it's saved my ass his hand a few times, though I have no such delusions about this time, but at least I can see the tiny chip my charming humor has made in his firm veneer. I get a half-smile and two raised eyebrows. "Sometimes I think you do have a death wish, Mr. Potter."

My face cracks into a watery smile. I was right. He's only marginally softened, but it's enough to make me feel like the weight of a two-ton 'Acme' anvil is off my shoulders. I feel a million times lighter. His reprimand won't be fun, they never are, but I know everything's going to be okay.

**

I take a minute outside his door, that part's still hard, remaining firm when he's holding back tears. It's better I remain firm for Dean at this point. Too much softness is not good. I can be soft tomorrow once he's been punished, which looks like an inevitability. I'll be in a better frame of mind to hear him out tomorrow, but today, I couldn't bear hearing the reason, which I'm sadly certain is going to be asinine, since he's already alluded to that. When he has a good reason, he's quick to tell me, unless he's protecting a friend, but I sense that is not the case this time. I shouldn't feel betrayed, Dean is just a silly teen doing silly teen things, but (at the risk of sounding like my father) my son is better than that, isn't he? I'm always crushed when he does stuff like this and can barely control my disappointment. Better to talk this over with Sam.

And talked we have. All night in fact.

Now, I've got some thinking to do on my own before Dean and I meet.

My sour mood is not helped when I walk into the kitchen. "What are you doing here? Dean is in bed. No visitors."

Sam and Dallas are sitting at our kitchen table with mugs of tea and the angel. He looks at Sam for an answer. "No you don't. _You_ answer the question, or leave."

"I-I'm not here to see Dean. Sir," he adds belatedly.

"He's visiting with us, Cassy."

That's Sam's way of saying, _Michael doesn’t just belong to Dean, he belongs to us too,_ but there's no chance he'll say something like that outright with the mood I'm in. Dallas is a little more forthcoming. Likely because he leaves in the morning. "C'mon brother Cas. Sit with us. I'd like a visit with you before I leave. I'm gonna be gone awhile this time."

"Very well." Sam pours a mug for me, and I take my seat, the one, no one except me sits in at the head of the table. The angel is in (much as I hate to admit this) _his_ seat, the one that would be next to Dean if he was down here. The angel is here so much, I'm surprised Dean hasn't requested making him a permanent fixture at Sunday dinners. I'll bet that's coming. My answer is a firm, no. Everyone says I spoil Dean; I don't think I do. Much. They'll all know how much I don't when I tell Dean he's out of his mind if he thinks I'm going to allow the pair of them to get that serious. That would mean I'd be forced to spend one-on-one time with the angel. I loathe the angel. I'm not sure I can do that, even for Dean. Only trouble is, I'm pretty sure I'd so anything for my son. If I'm seen doing this, it means both that I've lost my marbles and is an extreme display of how much I love my mischievous little boy.

"I told Michael all about what happened, Cassy and he's just as upset with Dean as you are," Sam points out.

Sam knows me well enough to know that the angel and I having similar thoughts, even on Dean, will not endear me to the angel, but he tries anyway. Sam gets a displeased frown that says to watch it. Dallas, who has become adept as a buffering agent, steps in. "Dean's been put to bed for the night and so should this topic. We all share the commonality of having Dean as the most important person in our lives and we tend to get hung up on him. Poor half-pint. He's loved to death sometimes."

Dallas's words haunt me a little. He's right. Perfectly right. Dean's a pleaser by nature, also fiercely protective of the ones he loves, something I'm sure carried over from his 'first life' and compounded in his second a thousand-fold after collecting so many more people to love. The pleasing, protecting combo must be hard for him. When he fucks up, it's not just a set of parents he's let down, but his favorite uncle, his angel and anyone else who happens to hear about it. Even when he hasn't done something to earn our displeasure, he's busy juggling how to best take care of us, because heaven forbid he messes up—he's got four of us on his ass, forming a tea-mug-kitchen-table 'group' to discuss where we've 'gone wrong' with Dean.

Not that he shouldn't be reprimanded for this, he will be, but we can shelve the Dean-topic now. Anymore and we're beating the proverbial dead horse.

And there's something I need to do that I should have done earlier.

When the angel leaves for home and Dallas excuses himself to bed, I tell Sam I'll follow him shortly to our bedroom and head to Dean's. He's sprawled out on his double bed, belly down, hand under his pillow, pretending to be asleep. He was sent to bed early, I'm not surprised he couldn't sleep, not with the anxiety and stomach-rolling turmoil he's likely experiencing. When he's like he is now, I see a movie-reel of my little boy growing into the man he's becoming. It begins with the first moment I saw him at the Moddler agency, scared wild eyes protected by a tough exterior. Then it's the love-starved kid he grew down to. The one even my tough heart melted for, time and time again. Then he's my three-year-old child, the one he grew up to. The one whose diapers I changed and rocked to sleep as he sucked his soother and rambled on about little boy things until I told him to close his eyes and go to sleep. He's also the stubborn, outrageous boy I have to wrangle in, the one I constantly worry about, and see need to deal with firmly and ensure he remains on the most profitable path imaginable; one with so much love and fulfillment. I see him growing into a man and having kids of his own, if he doesn't become a hunter. I pray to god every night that he doesn't become a hunter again.

I see him presently too. Confused teenager, balancing school and family duties, but most of all hormones, friends and his love-life.

I sit down on his bed, the light from the hallway pouring into the dark room and start scratching his back. "Go to sleep, Dean."

"I've been trying to, sir."

I scratch some more. "Michael was here," I tell him.

"He was? That lying son of a Mother fudger."

"Dean."

"Well he is."

"He is?"

"He texted me earlier, told me he was coming by, I told him not to, since I was in trouble."

"Good plan."

"He didn't listen anyway."

Silence for a few more minutes, then, "Was it a talk about Dean fest downstairs?"

"No. Your uncle Dallas wouldn't let us," I say smiling.

That makes him laugh. "F-Father? Are you at least a little less mad at me?"

"A little. But Dean?"

"Yes, sir?"

"No matter how mad I get with you, or how disappointed I am from time-to-time, I love you the same amount. Boundless. Nothing changes how much I love you, respect you, adore you. Got it?"

"Got it," he yawns.

"Go to sleep now."

"I will, but, I have to ask one more thing. Please, sir?"

"One more thing." _Maybe I do spoil him._

"If I become a Hunter and move in with Michael and grow my hair longer than Daddy's and, and, I dunno, becoming a raging alcoholic, would you still love me and all that other stuff you just said then?"

I'm only shocked for a quick second, but I know my boy and I know what he's really asking for. I make sure to use my sternest papa voice. "First of all, moving in with Michael would require my permission, which I'm not giving, so that event will never take place, understand?"

"Yes, sir," he says relaxing.

"He's lucky I allow him here at all. Second, you've lost the privilege to grow your hair that long. Forever. You know why. Grow it out and see what happens."

His eyelids are heavier and close in such a way, they depict natural sleep, rather than the fake kind of sleep he had going on when I first came in here. "You're not going to become a raging alcoholic, because I say you're not. Believe me when I say, I'll stop you drinking long before it gets to that." Dean's so relaxed now, I know he's drifted off to sleep; completely out. His whole body is soft and his breathing is slow and rhythmic.

I kiss his head and keep scratching his back anyway. "And if you become a Hunter," I say very quietly. "I don't think I can stop you doing that without losing you, but you becoming a Hunter will lose you to me anyway. I have no idea what to do in that instance, but of course I'll love you even if."

I have to wipe my own tears away. It's hard not to just lie down with him. Somehow I get up and pull the blankets over him, so he looks cozier. "Papa says, sweet dreams, kiddo."

THE END, UH, AGAIN


End file.
